


One More Chance XVI

by DancingHare



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 18:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13440243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingHare/pseuds/DancingHare
Summary: Kedaar the hunter strikes down his prey.





	One More Chance XVI

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published July 24, 2008

It shouldn’t have been so easy. This blood elf was wily, far moreso than his usual prey. So Kedaar could not believe that he’d walk so willingly to his doom, to leave the sanctuary walls. It made him wary, and from what the warrior girl had told him of his quarry, he had reason to be so. He didn’t know what the priestess had told him, whether the elf knew that he was being hunted, but now Kedaar had to assume that the element of surprise — the most important advantage he had — was now gone.

The terrain was not in his favor, either. He’d rarely had the chance to hunt the blood elves in their homeland, and the dark, plagued woods were unfamiliar to him. Fortunately, he had encountered nothing especially unusual, some red-pelted cats and some very large spiders, and a great number of undead. But he didn’t know the land very well, the hidden caverns and vantage points, though he’d tried in few hours he had been here to get a general idea. Kedaar made camp atop one of these ridges, overlooking a broad, dark scar that sectioned the forest into halves. The main road crossed it here, though Kedaar only kept a half-hearted watch. He didn’t think the elf would be so foolish as to travel out in the open. In fact, he didn’t know if the elf would take the road at all; he might have used the strange device to teleport into the safety of the city. But Kedaar wasn’t worried about that. He had all the time in the world, and sooner or later, some sign of the elf would appear.

The haunted woods were beautiful in their own way, and Bloodthorn found the creatures there to be easy hunting — none of them had seen a creature like him before, and were unprepared for his ferocity. On the second day, Kedaar came across a camp of night elf Sentinels, and he stayed with them for a time, listening as they told him of these woods and of the regular attacks by the blood elves. From the sound of it, the open woods were dangerous enough that any traveler would be forced to stay along the roads, and would likely avoid the scar as much as possible. Kedaar moved along the edges of the road, just in the cover of the trees, where he guessed the elf would have passed. He searched for any track, any sign of disturbance of the plants, anything that might give a hint to his quarry’s whereabouts.

As it turned out, he only had to wait for the third day. Kedaar was far to the south, where the entrance of the forest was guarded by the ruins of a gatehouse. He had been tracking back, about to work his way up the other side of the road, when they passed. Bloodthorn hissed, raising his claws eagerly, but Kedaar set a hand on the creature’s cool shell, silently willing him to wait. He was stunned to see that not only was the elf traveling on the road, he was alone. The elf wore light leather armor and carried two short blades. Was he trying to get himself killed?

Again it seemed too simple, a trap to lower his guard and goad him into a foolish mistake. Kedaar held back, wary. The first shot was the most important, its timing crucial. This stretch of the road was ideal; it was less traveled, no outposts or buildings nearby, and plenty of cover. He could feel Bloodthorn’s restless energy beside him, eager for the kill. That was all the reassurance he needed. He drew a bolt from his quiver, laying it into the notch. The elf paused, and Kedaar could see the tips of his ears flick. Had he heard? It was too late to reconsider, his finger had already squeezed the trigger, the bolt already rushing to its target. The elf flinched backward with startling agility, the bolt sinking into his shoulder — a hit, but not a lethal one.

Bloodthorn burst from the cover of the forest, his mandibles clicking excitedly as he skittered over the road toward the elf. Kedaar cocked another bolt, cursing his own impatience. The second shot missed, brushing close enough to the elf’s head to ruffle his hair. The ravager had seized Istahn’s leg in its jaws, tearing at the leather of his pants. Grunting, he kicked the chittering creature with his free leg and broke for the woods on the other side of the road.

Kedaar drew out a handful of bolts, smirking faintly. Go ahead and run, elf, he thought. Not that it’ll do you any good. Bright spots of blood spattered the stones of the road, leading off in the direction that the elf had fled. Though he hadn’t been wounded very badly, there was more blood on the leaves and the ground, and it would lead him directly to his prey. Wounded and cornered, the blood elf would fight ferociously, but Kedaar was prepared for that, too. And he had an advantage — an ally in Bloodthorn, whose thirst for blood far exceeded either his or the elf’s.

He crested a small hill, the trail of blood spots now smaller and further apart. He must have bandaged himself, Kedaar reasoned. At the top of the hill, a small gap in the rocks led to what appeared to be a small cave. The elf had to be in there. It was a good hiding place; Kedaar was sure that he could not fit through the gap himself, but he could certainly shoot into it. He fired a first bolt, then a second, his head cocked for any sound, but he heard nothing but the hollow thunk of the bolt striking the stone. The cave had to be larger than it appeared on the outside, or perhaps he was hiding behind a corner. He’d send Bloodthorn through the gap and —

Sound erupted behind him, the ravager’s shrill chittering screech. The elf had got behind them somehow; Kedaar was baffled, surely he would have noticed, but there he was, his blades slashing at Bloodthorn’s armored legs. The ravager reared, leaping onto the elf with his sharp forelegs, trying to pin Istahn down as his long teeth snapped the air. Fumbling, Kedaar loaded his crossbow, lifting his sights onto his prey’s head. It was impossible to get a clear shot, Bloodthorn now straddled the elf and was tearing at his wounded shoulder. Through the sights Kedaar saw the elf’s short blade, its serrated edge dripping with poison, slip up between the plates of the ravager’s underside. Bloodthorn gave a shuddering screech of pain, and Kedaar winced as he saw the flood of black ichor that poured from the wound, but the ravager did not relent. He had to get in a shot, had to do something. Kedaar put bolts into the elf’s thigh, but was unable to reach anything vital — not without the chance of hurting Bloodthorn. The ravager staggered, its front claws slashing weakly at the elf, and Istahn sunk his other blade to its hilt. Bloodthorn uttered a plaintive cry, surprised and perhaps apologetic, as his legs crumpled beneath him.

Roaring, Kedaar drew his sword from its scabbard, charging the elf who was struggling to stand. Though agile, Istahn had been wounded in the shoulder and thigh, and the ravager had torn several gory gashes on his chest and midsection. He couldn’t react in time to avoid Kedaar’s attack, and the draenei bore down upon him, blind with fury. But his heart wasn’t in it, and Kedaar threw the sword aside once the elf stopped moving. Trembling, he knelt beside the ravager’s side, laying a broad hand on its body. It shouldn’t have been like this, Kedaar thought, his eyes stinging. Gingerly, he lifted the ravager’s body and placed him inside the cave, piling rocks in the narrow entrance so that nothing would disturb him. It wasn’t much, but it was better than leaving him lying out in the open like the elf.

The reward — he had almost forgotten about it. Kedaar took the sword up again, and with a swift, sure strike he chopped the elf’s right hand from his arm. The ring finger bore a signet, that was certain to be proof enough for Vassanta. The money was no consolation, not now, gold could never buy Bloodthorn back. He wrapped the bloody hand in a cloth and stuffed it into his pack, setting out on the road into the Plaguelands.

Vassanta’s relief was palpable when he set the gory trophy onto the table in the bar. She thanked him enough to make him feel embarrassed, and she paid him even more than she’d promised. Kedaar accepted it with a polite nod, but he felt hollow and false. The girl pried the ring off and turned it over curiously, and after a moment’s hesitation she put it into her pocket. He thought that was a strange thing to do, but he said nothing.

“Is that all, then?” he asked, still feeling numb and far away. He hoped that she didn’t notice, hoped that she wouldn’t ask what was the matter.

Vassanta smiled, the first real one he’d seen. “Yes,” she answered. “I think it’s finished.”


End file.
